catch the conscience
by chaos-music
Summary: Another night of sleepwalking for Lady Macbeth. -Unmarred consciences, sleep well, for we of sin suffer purgatory for you.


**yay sanity slippage.**

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><p>The Queen<p>

Offering the blood of innocents

And murderers,

My hands, on my hands,

My hands laid down, offered,

Offered,

_Out, damned spot!_ The blood of innocents

At your feet - does this

Make me stronger, make me

Stronger than you?

Would you step,

Would you set foot in the pool

Of blameless blood?

Of guilty blood?

Dirty blood, mudblood,

_And I am_ of this blood,

I am the masthead,

The mind behind the claws,

The mistress of the house!

Kneeling, offering

How shameful, shameful –

If one would see, if one would see

The steely maiden of unwavering will

Bowed before another?

Scandal, scandal, unfit for the throne, scandal

Murderess!

Unsex me, I said.

Remove from me the milk of human kindness

Of womanly tenderness, I said;

Let it mingle with the blood

Of an infant on the floor,

On the altar of Ambition,

Smeared across the walls and the ceiling and

Peeling like dried paint-

Clean, clean, this place must

Be clean, flawless, we have guests – servants!

These halls must gleam with the

Silence of an open conscience.

O, silence, sweetness of blankness

Unmarred

Unmarred consciences sleep well for we of sin suffer purgatory for you.

_Out out out out damn'd spot out—_

And murderers, murderers,

This castle is home to murderers,

How shameful, shameful—

If one were to know it would be the death of all murderers!

I flock with murderers

I bed with murderers

I set the idea

Of murder

In his mind's untarnished stone

I am a murderer

My hands offered,

Offered,

Cut off and laid at your altar.

Bleeding the truth for the truth is red

Evermore bleeding for the truth is eternal

Bleeding from stumps for hands I have none,

My lord, my lord, have I ruled you? Have I counseled you?

Lend your strength to your Queen.

My hands are _yours_

Yours and red with the

Red with the

Bl-b-b-blo-blood

How I tremble so!

B-bl-

Where is your fortitude, Lady Macbeth? Where is your iron and your steel?

Where are your poison words and merciless greed?

Where is your strength that you tremble so much,

At the word b-bb-bb-bloo-ood-

At the sight of _him_ your father_ him_ your father

Asleep and his head laid open?

_My_ father? Or

King Duncan

His heart carved out

Inscribed with the seal of Cawdor

By the beaks of ravens?

Stars, hide your fires! He said,

He said for the night to cloak us,

He prayed for the darkness

To shield us.

_Hark! –Peace!_

Quiet your cries, o demon, demon

_Murderess enchantress queen advisor_

_Trickster mentor temptress_

Demon!

Macbeth! Demon's right hand

King of Scots, killer of goodness

Does God not strike you when you say your prayers?

Why does God not strike you?

Why does God deny us

To die, to sleep – perchance to dream?

Thou art my husband?

Or art thou a spirit,

A mad ghoul that transferred

From my tainted fingertips to his, that directs his movements

Because he talks not to me not to me not to me

Thought I was

I was his only

Thought I was his ruler his only voice

_the Queen_

Of his every member, the Red Queen of

Of Scots?

Macbeth doth murder sleep for the house is restlessly—

_Murder! Murder, in my house? What!_

No more of that, my lord,

Calm yourself, calm yourself; you make a fool of yourself

Before guests, my lord, calm

Calm, said I to the mirror, darkly.

I said to him "Wash and dress in your nightgown, for he is dead—"

Or thus saith I to me?

_To bed!_

To bed with the monster, with the murderer

Murderer, murderer!

To bed with the nightmares, to bed with the ghosts

That seep into those cracks in the mind—

Calm yourself, Queen of Scots.

How bitter the title! Queen of Scots?

Queen of murdered sleep

Murder,

Murderers and usurpers and

Lunatics!

Out, out, blemishes upon our throne!

Out, damn'd spots! Drown in thy own sin

Choke upon the bubbling glory that pulses

In my veins, my fingers

Lunatics, babbling lunatics, I will not have them –

My fingers have clutched the dagger or was it

Or was it thy hand, my lord, which I led

With gilded words rotten with death

With death—

Does your mind scream, my lord, as mine?

Calm yourself, Macbeth, thy fits are unseemly, unseemly.

Childhood grievances are better put to grave

When the last youthful impulse withers.

You have murdered

I have murdered

This house is drenched in bb-bl-oo-od

This castle

Offered,

An offering to appease the wrathful Satan

_An offering to Satan, _this house

This castle, this court, toppled from Paradise

Set at the gates of Hell

Set at the hands of Satan.

Hell is murky? Hell is bright?

Those stars have no fires here.

This house is steeped in sin, in hell, we are but demons

This, this

House

_You _

I have murdered

Murdered

You

I have mur-mur-m-murdered

You have murdered!

.

.

.

.

Me?

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><p><strong>okay so um. yeah. Shakespeare was cool. <strong>

**enjoy?**


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